he knew his stuff

Though gay companions o'er the bowl

May dispel awhile the sense of ill;

Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,

The heart -- the heart -- is lonely still.

- Byron

breath of fresh air

The wonderful aforementioned Sophie left a voicemail on my mobile last night reading an extract of a poem to me. It cheered me up no end, amidst my great sea of tissues and ibuprofen:

These I have loved:
White plates and cups, clean-gleaming,
Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust;
Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust
Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;
Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood;
And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;
And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours,
Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;
Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen
Unpassioned beauty of a great machine;
The benison of hot water; furs to touch;
The good smell of old clothes; and other such
The comfortable smell of friendly fingers,
Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers
About dead leaves and last year's ferns...

From "The Great Lover" by Rupert Brooke